Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

head in frustration. The Inspector continued, “There is nothing to go on—not a clue. You would have to bring me something … somewhere to start.”

“Your detectives – sorry, I mean your deputy inspectors—could start at the airport, see if anyone remembers them, or saw them get into a vehicle. Maybe someone in the terminal saw the women being met by someone. They are both beautiful women. People notice beautiful women.”

“That is true, but every Comisaria in the city is stretched to the limit due to the festival. Every year we are forced to enlist the help of the Guardia Civil. I’m sorry, Señor, I can’t spare the manpower. Perhaps you could enlist the help of the policía in San Sebastián. They are closer to the airport. Perhaps an officer could accompany you to make inquiries there.”

Ben shook his head no and said, “There isn’t time for that. Their lives are in danger right now!” He waited, hoping the Inspector would reconsider, but the man just stood before him with his arms folded across his chest. Ben was just as impatient as the Inspector, but wouldn’t give up. “I can’t tell you how, but I know they’re in the city. Remember the email confirming that?”

“Do you have a copy of this email?” Ben’s shook his head no. He stepped sideways to lean against the counter, no doubt finding that the whole exchange was going nowhere. “You have no way of knowing if it was legitimate information. I have had experience with investigations where very creative efforts were made to … how do you say? … ‘Throw us off the scent.’”

Ben continued to be unflappable. “But it’s all I have, and something has to be done—now!”

“I would urge you to be careful. You are in a strange city, which is, unfortunately, overrun with people of all types. You could easily get yourself into trouble.” Ben shifted from one foot to the other, impatient to take some kind of action yet reluctant to offend Inspector Macias by cutting short what he was trying to say. The Inspector sensed this and brought his comments to a close. “As I said, there’s nothing I can do for you at this time, with what little information you have to offer. If you learn more, if you get specific information, return to the Comisaria and have me paged. If that happens, I will do my best to sort this out.” He paused then added, “And if you come upon some immediate information about the women—something dangerous—you can always dial our emergency number—zero nine two.”

Ben realized that there was no point in continuing to pursue police assistance. He thanked the Inspector, who excused himself and returned to the area behind the glass partition. Ben watched him go into his office and shut the door. Feeling tired and discouraged, he sat down in one of the chairs that lined one wall. Elbows on knees, he put his head in his hands and was still. After a minute or so he raised his head, rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his hair, then slumped down in the seat. With his eyes covered he hadn’t seen Annunciata walk over and sit down beside him. He glanced sideways and saw her, wondering why she was looking at him. The first thing he noticed was that the woman’s eyes were kind, but also that her face showed fatigue.

She inched forward in the chair, put her belongings on the floor between her feet, then folded her hands in her lap and began to speak. “Señor, no hablo Ingles, pero he oído que hablan español. ¿Sé que el miedo a dos mujeres?

Ben understood that she had overheard him speaking Spanish to the young officer and also knew what he had said. He couldn’t imagine why she was questioning him. After all, what could she know? He decided to indulge her. There was something in her expression—the haunted look in her eyes. It moved him. Knowing the limitations of his ability to speak the language, he figured he wouldn’t understand much.

“No hablo bien, Señora, pero voy a tratar de entender,” he said, hesitating between words, and hoping she understood that he would try to understand what she would say. It had been a long time since he tried to use what he learned in school.

The duty officer had been watching them and came out from behind the desk to ask if the woman was bothering the Englishman. Ben told him no, that they were trying to communicate, although it was said with hand gestures. Doing the best he could, Ben recalled enough words to ask if there was an officer who could translate for them. The young man looked into the squad room and saw the required person. He went to the doorway and called to the uniformed man, who acknowledged him then came out to see what was going on. An explanation was made regarding what was needed. The officer buttoned his uniform, adjusted his tie and approached Ben. Like the Inspector, he spoke with an accent that gave his use of English a pleasing cadence.

“I understand that you require a translator—that you wish to speak with this woman?” He gestured toward Annunciata, who looked self-conscious. This kind of attention was foreign and made her uncomfortable.

“Yes, thank you,” Ben said. “I speak a little Spanish, but not enough for a conversation.”

The officer turned to Annunciata and asked what it was she needed to tell the man. She repeated the story as she had told it to the young desk officer, pausing now and then to wait for the translation to be made. Ben listened with intense concentration and a wrinkled brow. Soon he was aware of everything she had experienced and seen in the house. She described the man who had hired her—the bald tattooed head, the evil she saw in his eyes, his brusque manner—then all but pleaded with the officer to take her seriously. When Ben heard the translation describing the man,